


Predators and Prey

by alynwa



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragi Kosovo re-emerges and sends an agent on a mission of vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The prequels are the Picfic Tuesday Challenge tales: Of Cats and Spies; Birds of a Feather; Retaliation; Impending Storm and Distant Thunder

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

The woman sat behind her desk drumming her fingers as she watched the men file silently into her office and take seats that had been arranged in a semi – circle facing her.  She had called this meeting to discuss several new initiatives, but first, one piece of old business needed to be addressed.  Her Number Ones of Europe, North and South America, Asia and Africa took up most of the seats while the others were taken by her Chief Financial Advisor, her head of world – wide security and finally, a blonde she had heard about, but never met.  She looked at her expectantly.

“Chairwoman Kosovo, may I present one of our top operatives, Agent Angelique DeChien of THRUSH Europe,” said Teddy Bogus.  Dragica “Dragi” Kosovo had appointed him to take over from Cosmo Lawrence after he had…disappointed her.

“Agent DeChien,” Dragi purred, “So we finally meet.  I have heard that your mission success rate is quite impressive.  May I call you Angelique?”

Angelique’s face showed pleasure and pride when she answered, “Of course, Chairwoman Kosovo, I would be honored if you did.”  Internally, all of her senses were on high alert.  It was not overstating the facts to say that Dragi Kosovo was one of the most dangerous, if not _the_ most dangerous, woman in the world.  For what seemed the hundredth time Angelique thought, _What does she want from me?_ She felt like she was in a dark cave with a deadly viper, not knowing if where she stood was safe or when it would strike.

“Excellent!  You must call me Dragi.  We women, we must stick together, yes?”  At the blonde’s nod, she smiled and said, “I had Ted bring you here because I have a job I want you to undertake.  The last two agents assigned were only able to complete half the mission.”

“They were killed?”

“Yes.  UNCLE had relocated them to the western United States after capturing and debriefing them.  I found and executed them.  Personally.  That precipitated Teddy Bogus’ and Bernard Cyrus’ elevation to the Number One positions in Europe and North America, respectively.”  She must have read something in Angelique’s face because she quickly added, “Oh, do not worry, Angelique; I have no doubt you will be successful.  Lawrence and Toles were at the end of their usefulness anyway and their failure put a period to their lives.  Let me give you some background.”

Angelique listened attentively as Dragi recounted how the defections of Valerie O’Shea and Mikhail Sukharov to UNCLE had affected THRUSH’s finances and compromised quite a few long term operations worldwide.  She could certainly understand the chairwoman’s anger and frustration at having so many plans thwarted.  _I think I know what she wants now._

As if she read Angelique’s mind Dragi said, “I want you to finish what Toles and Lawrence started: Locate and kill Valerie O’Shea for treason against the THRUSH Central Committee.  The last intelligence report I received indicated that she is living somewhere in the state of New Hampshire under an assumed name with Sukharov’s grandmother.”  She handed a large envelope to the agent.  “This is all the information I have.  Good luck.”

“Consider it done, Dragi.  I will not fail you,” Angelique replied as she took the proffered material.  “I will leave for the United States immediately.”

Five hours later, Angelique was sitting in the first class section of a South African Airways flight on her way to New York City reading the contents of the envelope Dragi had given her.  She sighed heavily as she sipped her martini.  _I should have known, Napoleon Darling, that you were up to your eyebrows in this business.  Please don’t make me finally have to kill you._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty – two hours after leaving South Africa, Angelique checked into the Pan American in Queens, a very good hotel about a fifteen minute train ride from mid – town Manhattan.  She sat on her bed and looked around.  _It’s not the Plaza, but it will do.  I don’t plan to stay in New York too long, anyway._ She checked herself in the mirror and was pleased that despite sleeping in a slightly reclined seat for hours, she looked quite presentable.  _Well, I better get started._ She sat on the bed and picked up the phone.  Dialing a number, she listened as it rang three times before a coolly professional female voice answered, “Good evening.  Thank you for calling the Universal Numismatic Coalition for Legal Exchanges.  And how may I help you?”

Affecting an Australian accent Angelique replied, “My name’s Sylvia Broadchurch.  I have some rare Aussie two cent and dollar coins for sale.  I was told that one of your buyers, a Mr. Norman Stewart, might be interested in purchasing them.  Please tell him I can be reached at 212 – 555 – 4942, extension 615.”

She could hear the scratch of a pencil as her information was written down.  “I’ll make sure Mr. Stewart gets the message.”

“Thank you, have a g’day,” she said before returning the handset to its cradle.  She picked up the Room Service menu and prepared to order dinner.  _The game is officially afoot._

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Napoleon was bored.  He was sitting at his desk in UNCLE HQ in his shirtsleeves up to his elbows in mission reports, expense reports and budget modifications.  He looked across their adjoining desks at Illya’s empty chair.  _Lucky Russian!  He gets to supervise a courier drop while I’m stuck here with a mountain of paperwork!  Half of which I had planned to foist off on him._ He recalled their morning meeting with the Old Man. 

Mr. Waverly had wanted one of them to shadow one of the newest Section IIs as he hand delivered documents to a field office in Philadelphia.  “I’ll do it,” he had said immediately.  _That was my mistake; I said it just a little_ too _fast._

“Mr. Solo, are my mission reports ready for review?”  The bushy eyebrows bunched together as he awaited an answer.

“No, Sir, but…”

“It’s the end of the month, Mr. Solo; have you completed your expense reports or monthly statistics?”

“Well, ah, _no_ …”

Mr. Waverly waved his hand and his CEA fell silent.  “Mr. Kuryakin, since I have your reports, you will shadow Agent Palmer and evaluate his skills.  And Mr. Solo, you will have my paperwork, _all of it_ , completed and on Miss Rogers’ desk before you leave work tonight.  Any questions, Gentlemen?  No?  Dismissed.”

Illya held his composure until they were in the elevator.  Bursting into rare laughter he gasped out, “You thought you were going to push those reports onto my desk for me to do, did you not?  I think you have been outsmarted, my friend.  I will bring you back a cheesesteak.”

That had been four hours ago.  He had to admit that without the Russian to distract him, he had made a large dent in the work and could actually see the light at the end of the paperwork tunnel.  Just as he picked up another report, there was a knock on the door.  “Enter,” he called.  The door swished open to reveal one of the Communications support staff.  “Melanie!” he said delightedly, “I haven’t seen you in a while.  You’re looking well.  What’s going on?”

Melanie blushed at Napoleon’s sultry voice and words.  “This message came to you through one of our phantom companies late last night.  The number was traced to a room in a hotel in Queens.”

Napoleon held out his hand to take the message from her.  “Thank you.  Do you eat lunch, Melanie?”

The young woman stuttered, “Uh, uh, uh, yes, Mr. Solo, I do eat lunch.”

His smile broadened.  “Napoleon.  I’m a little busy today,” he indicated by sweeping his arm over his desk, “But if you’re not too busy tomorrow, would you have lunch with me?”

“I’d love to!  Thank you…Napoleon.”

“Is the Commissary okay with you?”

“It’s fine!  I have to get back to my office, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”  She backed up and when the door slid open, she turned and almost bounced through it.

Napoleon chuckled to himself as he looked at the message.  _Sylvia Broadchurch, eh?  Angelique has as many aliases as I do.  Wonder what she has for me.  I’ll just pop over there after I leave here.  No reason to call and alert her that I’m coming._ He shrugged to himself and went back to work.  _This should prove interesting._

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Napoleon stepped off the elevator on the sixth floor of the Pan American.  He quietly walked to room 615 and stood listening outside the door.  The only sounds he could hear was the radio playing the latest Beatles song and Angelique’s voice singing along.  When he was comfortably certain she was alone, he pulled his gun, held it behind his back and knocked on her door.

“Who is it?”

“Norman Stewart.”

The sound of the chain coming off the door and the lock being turned reached his ears and then the door opened to reveal the THRUSH blonde with the exception of her right hand which remained hidden behind it.  She glanced quickly into the hallway and then motioned him inside.  She closed the door behind him and held her gun up to show she meant no harm and Napoleon did the same.  They watched each other like hawks as they put their weapons away.  “ _Cherie,”_ she whispered as she stepped into his embrace, “It has been too long.  How are you?  And where is that horrible little gnome you call a partner?”

He chuckled as he kissed her hair.  “Gnome, eh?  You should hear what he calls _you_.  He’s close by, as always,” he lied, “So.  You have something to sell me?”

“Better; I have something to _give_ you,” she breathed into his ear before viciously scratching the back of his neck with her fingernail.  The paralysis toxin that coated her nail began to affect the man instantly.  “I am so sorry, _Cherie,_ but trust me; this is preferable to what I could do.”  She gently guided him to the bed.  “This will not hurt you, but I needed you immobilized so I could administer this.”  She reached into her purse and withdrew a hypodermic needle.  “This is the latest truth serum we have developed, Darling.   Hopefully, you haven’t developed an antidote yet.”

Napoleon’s eyes widened as he attempted to struggle.  The most he could manage was a twitch of his legs and arms.  “Angelique, it will be kind of hard for me to have sex like this,” he joked uneasily.

“Don’t I know it, dear Napoleon, and believe me: I have noticed that your arms and legs are not the only things that have stiffened.  Unfortunately, I have been sent to the States personally by the Chair of the Central Committee and I do not dare allow myself to be distracted, not even by having sex with you.”  She expertly rolled up his shirtsleeve, swabbed his arm with alcohol and administered the shot.  “You shouldn’t feel any pain or discomfort, Napoleon.  You should feel a nice warmth and like you want to talk to me.  You do want to talk to me, don’t you?”

_I do want to talk to her!  What is this drug?  I feel so…relaxed and comfortable.  Weird.  I still can’t move, but that’s okay._

“Napoleon, Darling, I don’t want to know anything about UNCLE.  Don’t worry, all your agency secrets can stay with you.  Understand?”  When he nodded (or tried) she continued, “All I need from you is Valerie O’Shea’s new name and address in New Hampshire.  She’s already given UNCLE all the information she had regarding THRUSH’s infiltrations into some countries’ governments, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So, UNCLE has no more use for her, correct?”

“Yes.”

She sat next to him.  “Ah, so it’s not a big deal if THRUSH gets its agent back, correct?”

 _When she puts it like that, it makes sense.  Why shouldn’t I tell her?  What would it hurt?_ Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice seemed to be trying to raise an objection, but the drug chased it away before it could.

“Talk to me, Cherie.  You’ll feel better when you do.”

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Illya came through Del Floria’s door and nodded to the older man as he moved swiftly to the last changing stall and stepped in, pulling the curtain closed behind him.  He turned the hook on the back wall and stepped into the reception area. 

“Good morning, Agent Kuryakin.”

“Good morning, Glenna.”

She handed him his badge.  “Mr. Waverly wants to see you immediately.”  In a lower voice she said, “I think it’s about Napoleon.”

The Russian didn’t show Glenna any reaction to her words.  “Thank you,” was all he said.  He hurried to Number One’s office and was ushered in by Miss Rogers.  “Sir, I understand you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, Mr. Kuryakin.  I take it Agent Palmer experienced no problems?”

“No, Sir, he did not.  He handled the task adequately.”

The Old Man puffed on his pipe and blew the slightly noxious smoke into the air.  “Your partner went to Queens to meet a contact who had called him the night before at one of our cover companies.  That was several hours ago; we have not heard from him since.  His check in was thirty minutes ago and he missed it and he’s not answering his communicator.”

“This contact, do we know the name?”

“Someone calling herself Sylvia Broadchurch.  He went to meet her at the Pan American Hotel on Queens Boulevard, Room 615.”

“I know where that is.  I will go now.”

Anyone seeing him in the hallway would not have known; his poker face was firmly in place, but Illya Kuryakin was furious.  _Sylvia Broadchurch; another alias for that black widow, Angelique DeChien!  Napoleon, what have you gotten yourself into, now?_

  

     


	3. Chapter 3

Illya stepped off the elevator and walked quietly to stand outside of room 615.  There was a “Do Not Disturb” placard hanging from the doorknob.  He listened intently, but heard nothing except a radio playing softly.  He looked up and down the hallway before pulling his gun from his shoulder holster and tapping on the door with the end of it.  “Sorry to disturb, Miss Broadchurch,” he called in a passable Indian accent, “But we’ve received a call that the room below yours has a leak in the bathroom ceiling and we need to check your bathroom.” 

He was about to knock again when he heard Napoleon’s muffled voice.  “She’s not here!  She’s gone!”

He put his gun away and pulled his lock pick from his shirt collar.  A few seconds later, he pushed the door open to see Napoleon face down on the bed.  “Are you all right, Napoleon?”

“Yes.  No.  I don’t know.  Turn me over!”

The Russian gently rolled his partner onto his back.  “Are you injured?  What did she do to you?”

“She paralyzed me and then gave me a truth serum.  The only thing I could do was talk.  And I did.  I couldn’t stop myself!  She said it’s new.  The toxin she used to immobilize me is temporary.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me and I can feel it leaving.  My arms and legs feel like pins and needles.  I couldn’t feel them at all before.”

Illya hauled him up so that he was leaning against the headboard and began massaging his arms and legs to speed up the process and relieve the discomfort.  After a few minutes, he stopped and pulled out his communicator.  “I have to call Mr. Waverly.  How badly is UNCLE compromised?”

“Believe it or not, she didn’t ask me anything about UNCLE.  She wanted to know where Valerie O’Shea is living and her new name.  Once I gave it to her, she told me that she was leaving before you showed your face.  Then she said just on the off chance that you didn’t come, she had paid for two more nights and placed a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door so that I wouldn’t be found and embarrassed by Housekeeping.   She was fairly certain that I would be fine by tomorrow afternoon the latest.  She left about three hours ago.”

Illya assembled his communicator and spoke into it.  “Open Channel D, please.”

“Mr. Kuryakin!  I take it you have located Mr. Solo?”

“Yes, Sir.  Apparently, he was waylaid by THRUSH and injected with a new truth serum that…proved to be successful.”

“What?”

Illya cut in before Mr. Waverly could work up a full head of steam.  “Mr. Solo stated that the only information THRUSH was interested in was the present name and location of Valerie O’Shea.  Mr. Waverly, Na…Mr. Solo was also given a temporary paralysis drug and is still unable to move.  It is beginning to wear off, but could you send a medical team here to draw blood while both drugs are still in his system so that we can get it analyzed?”

He could hear the Old Man speaking to someone, Miss Rogers he assumed, and then he was back saying, “The team is on its way.  Let Mr. Solo know that I have asked the Boston field office to send a security team to New Hampshire and that I want to see him when he is capable of movement.”  The communicator clicked off before he could answer. 

“ _That_ is not a good sign,” Napoleon observed as he continued to hug himself and rub his arms, “Maybe I need to start looking into snowsuits; I hear Antarctica is quite nippy this time of year.”    

“No one is going to Antarctica, Napoleon, at least not for breaking under a new drug.  No, if you go, it will be because Mr. Waverly is finally fed up with your insane attraction to Angelique DeChien.”

Napoleon stopped rubbing his arms and let them drop to his side.  “Oh,” he replied sheepishly, “You knew Broadchurch is Angelique?”

“ _Da._ ”  He began massaging his partner’s legs again.  “I would not be surprised to learn that Mr. Waverly knows, too.  I did not mention to him that I knew it was Angelique.  So, if you get sent to Antarctica, I will probably have to go with you.”

Napoleon laughed, “Now I know I’ll have to get back in the Old Man’s good graces!  I’m not going to listen to you whine.”

“Says the King of Complaining.”  Illya’s communicator chirped just then and when he answered it, it was the medical team alerting him that they were just entering the building and would be there shortly. 

“I’m not leaving here on a stretcher.”

“I thought not; we’ll take advantage of Angelique’s largesse and stay here until you can walk.”

Four hours after refusing to leave with the medical team, Napoleon had enough feeling in his legs that he could hobble to the elevator and stand in front of the hotel while Illya went to get the car.  “It is almost 10PM; what do you want to do, Napoleon?”

The CEA sighed, “It’s a safe bet that Mr. Waverly is still at HQ.  I better go see him.”

Twenty – five minutes later, they entered HQ and received their badges and a message that Mr. Waverly now wanted both of them to report to him.  They were ushered into his office and took their usual seats.

“Gentlemen,” the Old Man said without preamble, “I’ve received word from Boston that Miss O’Shea has been killed and the Section IIIs assigned to protect her and Mrs. Sukharov were badly wounded in a fire fight with a female THRUSH agent of your acquaintance, Mr. Solo.”  He held up his hand when the CEA opened his mouth to speak.  “I have already ascertained that Miss DeChien was the person you went to meet in Queens.  We have to discuss your continued dalliances with her, but not today.  I want you to take the jet to Boston and then get yourselves to Raymond, New Hampshire.  Mrs. Sukharov managed to get away and is hiding just outside of town.  She called me in hysterics, understandably so, and begged me to send you two because she doesn’t know or trust anyone else.”  He placed an envelope on the table and spun it until it rested in front of the CEA.  “That contains her location.  She’s expecting you.  Get her back to Boston as I’ve charged that office with relocating her.  Protect her and if Miss DeChien interferes…”

Napoleon picked up the envelope and tucked it into his inner jacket pocket.  “If she interferes, she will be disposed of,” he responded coldly.

“We understand each other then.  Dismissed, Gentlemen.”

The agents stood as one and exited their Chief’s office.  They were silent while they rode the elevator back to their office.  As Illya picked up his go bag he watched Napoleon clearing off his desk and grabbing his own valise.  “If it comes down to it, will you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Do not be obtuse!” the Russian snapped, “Your weakness for that creature has endangered your life far too many times!  If she were to stand between you and our mission’s success, could you remove her?  Even if it meant killing one of your favorite bed partners?”  Illya watched as a look of fury crossed his partner’s face.

“Don’t worry about me, Partner Mine,” Napoleon replied in a quiet controlled voice that made the Russian think briefly he had gone too far, “I know my job and I have _no_ problem _doing_ my job.”  He grabbed his coat.  “Let’s go.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Angelique was in her Boston Omni Hotel room feeling rather pleased with herself.  Her mission had been successful and she had just ordered a sumptuous dinner of steak and lobster and a bottle of red wine and a bottle of champagne from room service to celebrate.  She lifted her arm to take off her blouse and flinched at the sharp pain in her left bicep.  During the firefight earlier in the day, one of those blasted UNCLE agents had grazed her as she ducked for cover.  She checked the patch job she had performed on herself as she looked in the bathroom mirror.  _Not too bad, but that is going to leave a mark._ She was annoyed as she prided herself on her lack of scars.  _Napoleon’s scars are distinctive, but I think scars on a woman’s body are just ugly._ She reached for her lipstick communication device.  “Dragi, it is I, Angelique DeChien.”

“Ah, Angelique, I was hoping to hear from you!  What do you have to report?”

“Success, Dragi; Valerie O’Shea is dead.  She was with a two man UNCLE detail that I was able to ambush.  I took a picture of her body for proof.  I am currently in Boston and plan to leave for Europe tomorrow unless you would like me to return to South Africa.”  _I hope she has nothing else for me to do; I prefer to go home._

“Congratulations, Angelique; I should have never sent a man to do a woman’s job in the first place.  I do have one question, however: What about Mikhail Sakharov’s grandmother?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is she alive?”

“Yes.  She was about to exit the house when I attacked O’Shea and the UNCLE team.  She never saw me; I was down the street with a high – powered rifle.  She cannot identify me.  It is all in the report I sent you; in fact, you should be receiving it momentarily.”

“That is good, but I still consider her a loose end.  Kill her and then report to Teddy Bogus at THRUSH Europe HQ.”

“Dragi, she is an eighty – five year old Innocent.  What does it gain THRUSH to kill an old woman?”

“Agent DeChien, I am quite aware of her age _and_ her innocence and I do not care.  Eliminating her will send a message to all of THRUSH that any betrayal will be met with merciless punishment.  Do it.”

“No.  With all due respect, Chairwoman Kosovo, I refuse to kill a defenseless old woman just so you can send a message to the troops.”

Angelique swore the temperature of her room dropped more than a few degrees when the Chairwoman spoke next.  “If you do not follow my orders, I will track you down and kill you myself.  Do you understand?”

Whatever apprehension she may have felt at crossing Dragi disappeared in the face of her threat.  “Dragi Kosovo, you may be Chairwoman of THRUSH’s Central Committee and one of the most dangerous women in The Game, but I am _not_ the one you want to threaten.  I tell you now that I am _not_ killing that old woman!  Valerie O’Shea is dead by my hand and as far as I am concerned, my mission is complete.”

“DeChien, I will come to New Hampshire and kill you personally.  This is your last chance.  Kill her!”

“You bitch,” Angelique hissed, “I’m in Boston.  You think you can take me down?  I’ve been in The Game for years, too.  I will stay here and _wait_ for you and we’ll see who walks away.”  She clicked off her communicator just as Room Service knocked on her door.  _I better enjoy this, it could be my last meal._

Chairwoman Kosovo was in a full – blown fury.  “How _dare_ she hang up on me!” she screamed as she threw the device against the wall.  She stormed to her door and flung it open and yelled at her petrified secretary, “Tell my pilot I’m on my way and I want the wheels up ten minutes after I arrive!  We are going to Boston!  Has Agent DeChien’s report arrived?”  When her secretary nodded affirmatively and held it up, she snatched it and then slammed her door shut.  Reaching for her phone, she pressed her North American hotline button.  “Cyrus!  Cyrus, come in!”

“Yes, Chairwoman Kosovo,” he answered almost immediately.  “What can I do for you?”

“I want you to send a team to…” she paused as she quickly removed Angelique’s report from its envelope and perused it, “Raymond, New Hampshire.  Mikhail Sukharov’s grandmother was living there under the alias Agnes Kask.  Her original UNCLE security team was taken out of commission by Agent DeChien so that old fart Waverly will probably send one of his top teams.  Tell them to keep an eye out for either Solo and Kuryakin or Slate and Dancer and then follow them to the old woman.  I’m betting that they will escort her to Boston.”

“Why Boston, Chairwoman?”

“I would be very surprised if UNCLE did not have an office somewhere in the greater Boston area.  Have your team get her away from them and rendezvous with Agent DeChien in the Omni Hotel.  They will wait there until I arrive there in twenty – four hours.”  She heard what sounded like throat clearing on the line.  “Is there a problem, Mr. Cyrus?”

“I feel I must point out that remaining in the same location for that long under those circumstances might be… _problematic_.  May I respectfully suggest another course of action?”  He hoped her silence was tacit approval.  “I can book the penthouse in the Mandarin Oriental; it is very near the airport and extremely discreet with its clientele.  It has a private elevator that goes directly from the underground garage parking space to the penthouse so it is possible to come and go unseen.  It is easily defensible.  I can arrange for a limousine to meet your plane to bring you there.”  Her continued silence was starting to unnerve him, but he refused to show it.

Finally she said, “Make it so, Mr. Cyrus; your suggestions are good and your reasoning valid.  I made a good choice when I chose you to become the head of THRUSH North America.”

“Thank you, Chairwoman!  I am honored to serve.”

“One more thing: Agent DeChien is staying at the Omni.  I want her to be at the Mandarin when I arrive.  She will not want to cooperate with your agents.”

“I understand perfectly.  She will be there.  Have a safe flight, Chairwoman Kosovo.”

“I will speak with you when I land tomorrow.”  And with that, she broke the connection.

He clicked his phone and began to dial when he heard the dial tone.  _This job requires mostly brawn, but some brains, too.  Snatching an old woman from UNCLE’s best plus grabbing Angelique DeChien will require precise planning and timing.  I’ll send three of my best low level soldiers.  Yes and I better be in Boston to meet the Chairwoman._ The phone was answered and he said, “Jones, this is Bernard Cyrus.  I have a job for you.”

  

 


	5. Chapter 5

Napoleon and Illya arrived in Raymond, New Hampshire without incident.  Following Mr. Waverly’s instructions, they were able to locate Mrs. Kask, formerly Mrs. Sukharov, badly frightened, but otherwise unharmed, in an abandoned barn on the outskirts of town.  It had been almost fifteen hours since Angelique had killed Valerie O’Shea and wounded her security detail.  She was so relieved to see two familiar faces that she clung to the Russian like she would never let go.

 _“Spasibo svyatikh, vi zdyesʲ! Kogda Valyeri i tyekh mooʐchin bili rasstryelyani, ya pobyeʐal obratno v dom. Kogda nikto nye prishyel poslye myenya, ya pozvonil g-n Waverly._ (Thank the saints you are here!  When Valerie and those men were shot, I ran back into the house.  When no one came after me, I called Mr. Waverly.)”

Illya hugged the old woman gently and said soothingly, “ _Vi tyepyerʲ byezopasni, nye volnooytyesʲ._ (You are safe now, do not worry.)  Speak English now, Mrs. Sukharov; Napoleon is not fluent.”

She wiped her eyes with a wrinkled hand and said, “Forgive me, Napoleon.”

He kissed her hand.  “There is nothing to forgive, Madame.  We need to get going, Raymond isn’t safe anymore.  Where is Mika?”

“He was old.  We had to put him to sleep a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Napoleon said, “We have to leave now.  Don’t worry about anything; UNCLE  will replace your identification papers and whatever else you need.”

They drove back toward Boston and when Illya had exited onto Storrow Drive Mrs. Sukharov asked, “Do we have time to get something to eat?  I’ve had nothing all day and I’m starting to feel unwell.”

The two agents glanced at each other and Napoleon said, “I don’t see why not.  There’s a coffee shop on the corner, let’s stop there.”

Illya smoothly guided the car into the rear parking lot and they entered through the back door.  Illya smoothly dropped a homing device into the woman’s jacket pocket without her noticing as they took seats in a booth in the back that afforded the men a view of the front door.  The Russian translated the menu for their charge and she decided on breakfast while the agents ordered sandwiches and coffee. 

As soon as the waitress walked away Mrs. Sukharov said, “Excuse me, I have to go to the Ladies’ room.  I’ll be back shortly.”  Both men stood as she rose from the booth; Napoleon chivalrously holding her elbow to give her support.  They watched her speak to the cashier who pointed toward the rear of the restaurant and then head in that direction.

Minutes later, Napoleon said to Illya, “It seems she’s been in there for a while, doesn’t it?”

The Russian pulled his tracker from his jacket pocket and checked, “The signal is showing she is still there.  She is a senior citizen, after all.  Let us give her another moment.”  When the waitress brought their order he asked her, “Could you please tell my grandmother the food is on the table?  She is in the bathroom and I do not want her food to cool.”

“Sure!” the young woman answered perkily and walked swiftly to the back where the restrooms stood.  She came back into view a moment later with a confused look on her face.

The men got up immediately and went to her.  “What is wrong?  Is she ill?” Illya demanded to know.

“She’s… _not there._ ”

Napoleon moved quickly to the bathroom and opened the door as he pulled his weapon.  The only out of place thing was Mrs. Sukharov’s jacket, still containing the homing device, hanging on a stall door.

Illya saw there was an “employees only” sign on another door and opened it to see that it also led out back to the parking lot.  There was no sign of her.

Napoleon picked up the jacket and folded it over his arm.  _Mr. Waverly is really not going to like this._

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

“Welcome, Mrs. Sukharov.  On behalf of my superiors, I apologize for any discomfort you may have experienced on your ride here.  My name is Mr. Jones; I will be your host until they arrive.”

As the man was speaking, someone else was removing the cloth sack that had been thrown over her head at the restaurant after someone had stuffed something into her mouth.  She was badly shaken, but she remembered what Valerie had told her to say.  “You’re mistaken; my name is Agnes Kask!  I don’t know anyone named Sukharov.  Please let me go.”

The man called Jones laughed not unkindly, but his eyes were decidedly unfriendly.  “If I have made a mistake, my superiors will let me know and I will be punished.  I do think, however, that you are the one they wanted me to deliver.  You remind me of my nana, so you will be treated well, but do not attempt to leave.”  He pointed to two men who were sitting on a couch.  “My coworkers do not share my sentimentality.”

The smallest of the three men spoke up.  “It was a lucky thing they stopped there to eat.  I go there all the time.  Joey parked across the street so he could see inside and I parked down the street from the parking lot.  When he told me the old lady got up, I knew I could grab her out that back hallway.  The whole thing was smooth as silk!”

Jones stood looking out the window.  “Let’s hope our luck holds; Angelique DeChien is not an old lady.  She is at the Omni.  Any ideas on how to get to her?”

The third man, who had been sitting quietly, said, “My cousin works for the Omni.  Leave it to me; I’ll get her here.”

Angelique sat in her suite trying to read a Harper’s Bazaar magazine and wondering if she had gone mad.  _I dared Dragi Kosovo to come and kill me!  I’ve been holed up here when I should have flown back to Europe._ “Why are you doing this, Angel?” she said aloud, but she already knew the answer.  _Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder!  Even if she kills me, at least it will be over and I want this to be over.  I may not have all of THRUSH at my disposal, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve._ Her reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door.  “Who is it?”

“Room Service!”

“Be right there!”  She picked up her Luger and hid her gun hand behind the door.  She was expecting room service, but better safe than sorry.  She looked through the peephole to see the same young man who had been delivering all her meals.  She opened the door.   “Hello,” she said as she began to step out of the way to let him enter.  The last thing she remembered was seeing movement from underneath the cart’s tablecloth. 

    


	6. Chapter 6

Bernard Cyrus watched from inside the limo as the chauffeur led the way to the car carrying Dragi Kosovo’s bag.  He got out of the car with a large smile on his face.  “Chairwoman Kosovo, welcome to the United States.”  He held the door for her and then slid in beside her.  As the chauffeur began to drive he raised the privacy shield and asked, “How was your flight?”

“Long.  Status report?”

“I am very pleased to tell you that when you arrive at the penthouse, you will find Agent DeChien and Mrs. Sukharov awaiting your judgment.”

“Excellent, Mr. Cyrus!  You continue to impress me.  How were you able to do it?”

“It was a matter of picking the right people for the job.  I sent three of my soldiers to Raymond to keep an eye out for either Mark Slate and April Dancer or Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin.  They were able to follow Solo and Kuryakin to the old woman.  I had hoped we could discover the location of UNCLE Boston and then they would have had to fight to get her away, but an opportunity presented itself for them to snatch her without exposing themselves and they took advantage of it.”

Dragi looked out the window and watched the scenery slide by.  “And, Agent DeChien?  Did she put up a fight?”

“Not at all.  One of my men used a connection he had to infiltrate the Omni and shot her with a tranquilizer dart.  She never knew what hit her.”

Dragi began to laugh as she reached for a glass and a bottle of scotch from the wet bar and poured herself a drink.  “Believe me, Comrade Cyrus, when _I_ get through with her, she will know not only what hit her, she will know who _killed_ her.”  

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Angelique was slowly regaining consciousness.  Despite sunlight hitting her face, she kept still with her eyes closed and tried to garner as much information as she could using her other senses.  She could hear voices.  _There’s a TV on somewhere, but I hear at least two men speaking over it and there’s something else._ She concentrated as hard as she could.  _Is that crying I hear?  Yes, I’m sure of it; a woman is crying and she seems to be speaking in…Russian._ She took a deep cleansing breath to steady herself as the realization of who it must be almost caused her to jump.  _That has to be Sukharov’s grandmother!  Dragi has had me kidnapped!  She must be on her way._

She knew she was lying on something soft, but it did not feel like a bed.  She took a chance and opened one eye and took a quick look around.  The sunlight was streaming through a window that showed she was on a high floor.  She could see that she was in what appeared to be a large living room with rooms beyond it.  She saw that her hands were bound in front of her with an extension cord.  _I am either in an apartment building or another hotel; I’m assuming a hotel, possibly a penthouse._ She closed her eye when she heard footsteps approaching.

“Hey, Jones!  I thought you said she’d be awake by now.  She’s out like a light.”

Angelique heard a second set of footfalls come her way and stop.  “Be glad I’m here, you idiot.  That is Angelique DeChien and she’s one of the best.  She’s as awake as we are.  Trust me and don’t get closer than you already are or you’ll regret it.”

The first man snorted derisively, “Yeah, she’s so good I was able to tranquilize her with no problem.”  She sensed him moving closer.  “She is beautiful.”  She felt his hand on her left breast and brought her right leg up and kicked him in the family jewels with her high heel.

His scream was music to her ears.  “You should have listened to Jones,” she purred.  She looked over at the obviously smarter one of the two who now was pointing his gun at her.  She turned her attention back to the man who had collapsed beside the fainting couch on which she realized she was lying.  After several minutes, he was able to stand up, fury and a need for revenge on his face.  She readied herself for what she knew was coming.

“ _Hey!”_ Both she and the man leaning over her looked at Jones who no longer was pointing his weapon at her, but at the man, whose eyes grew wide as he backed away from her quickly.  “Mr. Cyrus made it clear that we are to deliver her to Chairwoman Kosovo unharmed and unmarked.  It’s your own fault she almost castrated you; I _told_ you to keep your distance.  Go near her again and I’ll shoot you myself!  As for you, Agent DeChien, I think we need to take more precautions now that you are awake.  Hans!  Come here.  Get another extension cord and tie her ankles together.”  He continued to hold his gun on her until the third man completed tying her further and only dropped his arm when Hans had finished his task.

“Straighten this place up; the Chairwoman and Mr. Cyrus will be here soon,” Jones ordered as he sat down a safe distance from Angelique to await their arrival. 

She took a deep breath and tried to get as comfortable as possible.  _The mistakes they have made so far; not tying my hands behind me and not securing me to the couch, I hope are not the_ only _ones they’ve made.  If I bide my time, I may still get out of this._

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Napoleon and Illya were sitting in UNCLE Boston in the teleconference room getting royally reamed by the Old Man for failing to bring Mrs. Sukharov safely to Boston HQ.  “Mr. Solo, you and Mr. Kuryakin were twenty minutes away from that office.  Why did you find it necessary to stop?”

“I take full responsibility, Sir.  Mrs. Sukharov said she was feeling ill and needed to get something to eat.  I didn’t think she was a target.  No one came after her after the security team and Miss O’Shea were shot.”

Mr. Waverly puffed on his pipe and harrumphed indignantly.  “I admit, Mr. Solo, I was surprised when you reported she had gone missing.  I assume THRUSH took her though I have no clue as to why.  What I do know is that we need to find her.  I have alerted Boston’s Police Department to conduct their own search.  The Section IIIs in the Boston office will look for her; I want you two to return to New York.”

Illya spoke up, “Mr. Waverly?  May I say something?”

“Go ahead, Mr. Kuryakin.”

“Mrs. Sukharov is very mistrustful of strangers, Sir; especially in light of what’s happened to her in the last twenty – four hours.  She might try to avoid and elude the very people trying to help her.  I request that Mr. Solo and I be allowed to search a little while longer.  I feel…responsible for her safety.”

“I appreciate that both of you feel so _responsible_ for what has happened.  Very well,” he sighed, “You have an additional twenty – four hours before you have to report to me in New York.  Use the time well.  Good luck.”  The screen went blank as Mr. Waverly cut the connection.

“Where do you want to look first?” Napoleon asked.

“I have no bloody idea.”  


	7. Chapter 7

Bernard Cyrus and Dragi Kosovo stepped off the private elevator and went to the penthouse where he knocked a code on the door.  A series of knocks came from inside which he answered.  Immediately, the locks could be heard being opened and the door swung open to reveal a man.

“Chairwoman and Mr. Cyrus, please come in,” Jones said as he signaled to his left that all was well.  The other two men relaxed and came to stand beside their superior.

“Chairwoman, these are the men who carried out your wishes; Jones, Hans and Smith.  Mrs. Sukharov is in the master bedroom and Agent DeChien is right over there.”

“You men will be richly rewarded for your success; I will have Mr. Cyrus see to it.  Thank you.  Please leave us now.”  The three minions quickly gathered their things, spoke quietly to Cyrus and then left, closing the door quickly behind them.  Dragi walked to where Angelique was lying and listening to the introductions.  “So, Angelique, we meet again.  We have many things to discuss.” 

Angelique smiled briefly at the brunette perched on the couch beside her.  “The art of conversation is a dying one, Dragi.  I would love to help you keep it alive.  Discussions are wonderful things.  We can talk forever.”

The smile Dragi gave Angelique was as blinding and cold as a glacier reflecting the sun.  “But we won’t _be_ talking forever, I’m afraid.  I must return to South Africa soon; I came all this way just to take care of two items on my personal agenda: That old woman in the next room…and _you._ ”  She looked at her Number One North America.  “Bring the old lady in here and then you may go.  Tell the chauffeur I will call him when I’m ready to leave.”

Cyrus bowed his head slightly.  “As you wish.  Agent’s DeChien’s possessions are in the master bedroom should you want them.”  He walked away and a few minutes later reappeared holding Mrs. Sukharov gently, but firmly in his grasp.  Angelique could see that though she was unrestrained, she was clearly terrified and attempting to comply with her captor.

Cyrus sat her down in an easy chair and said, “That is Chairwoman Kosovo; she is the one who wanted to see you.  I am leaving now.”  He straightened up and said to Dragi, “Are you sure you will be all right?”

She waved him off with an “I’ll be fine.”  She sat primly next to her insubordinate spy while she watched Cyrus leave.  After a few moments, she stood and walked closer to Mrs. Sukharov.  “I was very interested in meeting you, Mrs. Sukharov.  Would you like to know why?”

“ _Nyet.  Poʐalooysta ya khochoo poyti domoy. Poʐalooysta, daytye mnye proyti_! (No.  Please, I want to go home.  Please, let me go!)”

“ _V tyechyeniye nyeskolʲkikh minoot_.  (In a few minutes.)  I wanted to meet you to see what was so special about you that my agent here refused to follow my orders.  Let me explain: Agent DeChien killed Valerie O’Shea.”

Angelique was sickened to hear the old woman whimper and see her try to shrink into the chair.  “Dragi, your argument is with me; leave her alone!”

The Chairwoman kept talking as if Angelique hadn’t spoken.  “I told her to kill you, but she refused and actually threatened me.  Me!”  She walked behind Mrs. Sukharov’s chair.  “So I have decided that before I kill her, I will make her watch me do _this.”_ She reached down and grabbed the old woman’s head and twisted quickly until a horrible _snap_ was heard when the brittle bones of her neck came apart, killing her instantly.  Dragi stepped back triumphantly.  “She was lucky; you will not die as quickly or mercifully.”

 _She is insane!,_ Angelique thought as the woman began to move toward her like a predator stalking its prey.  _Her madness has made her arrogant and arrogance has made her careless.  I have one chance to bring her down if she just comes closer…_

“Really?  I was hoping you would just shoot me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?  I have something more… _personal_ and painful in mind.”  She reached into her pants pocket and extracted an object.  “I thought I would amuse myself by cutting you to death with this.”  She held it out so that Angelique could see that it was a box cutter.  She slowly slid the razor out and approached holding the blade in front of her.  “I think I’ll start by slicing up that pretty face of yours.”

Angelique lay perfectly still, her eyes never leaving Dragi’s razor.  If the Chairwoman could have read her mind, she would have backed up and shot her because Angelique was thinking, _Closer, come closer, a little bit more…_

Dragi swiped at the blonde’s face and yelped in astonishment as Angelique lifted her tied hands and blocked the box cutter from her face while at the same time, leaving a deep scratch on the Chairwoman’s forearm.  She rolled out of the way as Dragi’s rapidly stiffening body began to fall onto the fainting couch.  She sat up and calmly plucked the box cutter from where it had fallen on the couch.  She began to cut through the extension cord binding her wrists.

“What did you do to me?” Dragi demanded, “Why can’t I move?”

“What I did was take advantage of all the mistakes made here today.  I don’t know if you know this about me, Dragi, but I have a background in chemistry.  I developed a paralysis toxin that I can add to my nail polish.  Works well, don’t you think?”  She cut the cord, loosened it enough to free her hands and then bent over to untie the knot for the cord around her ankles. 

Dragi was feeling something she had not experienced in a long time; fear.  “What are you going to do with me?  Cyrus knows I’m here.  If anything happens to me…”

“All of THRUSH will rejoice.  You are feared, Chairwoman Dragica Kosovo, but not respected or beloved.  No one will miss you or care that you are dead.  And you are dying today, Dragi, for so many reasons; the least of which is killing an innocent old woman for no reason other than your sick need to punish me.”  She stood up and moved to Mrs. Sukharov’s body.  She closed the woman’s eyes and turned to face her superior.  “You owe me, Dragi, and you are not leaving this world until you pay your debt.  I would say ‘Don’t move,’ but…well, you know.”  Laughing at her own joke, she walked into the master bedroom and returned with her purse.  Reaching in, she pulled out a hypodermic needle and a vial.  She filled the needle and injected it into Dragi’s right arm.  “I know I didn’t sterilize the area or the needle, but it doesn’t matter.  Now, you are going to tell _all_ about your personal wealth.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Napoleon and Illya had gone back to the house Valerie O’Shea and Mrs. Sukharov had shared to see if there might be a clue there as to the old woman’s whereabouts.  The Boston Police Department and UNCLE’s Boston Section IIIs had been over the entire place with a fine – toothed comb, but they were looking on the slim chance something had been overlooked. 

Napoleon shoved his hands into his pants pockets and leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.  “It’s hopeless, Partner Mine.  We might as well pack up and get ready to head back home.” 

Before Illya could answer, Napoleon’s communicator began to chirp.  Holding up his hand to his partner, he quickly assembled the device.  “Solo.”

“Napole…uh, Agent Solo, we just received an urgent message from Sylvia Broadchurch.  She wants Norman Stewart and his associate to meet her at the Mandarin Hotel’s penthouse as soon as possible.  She said it would be worth your while to do so.”

“Thank you, Melanie!”

“You, you recognized my voice?”

“Of course!  And I am so sorry that I had to leave town before our date or before I could even call you to cancel, but you understand, don’t you, when duty calls?”

Illya rolled his eyes when he heard Melanie gushing, “Of course I understand!  We can reschedule when you get back to HQ.  Be careful.”

“I will.  Solo out.”  He put the communicator back in his breast pocket.  “This had got to be about Mrs. Sukharov.  The Solo Luck comes through, again!”

“Oh, yes, because it worked out so well the last time you saw Angelique.”

“Don’t be flippant, Illya, this might be the break we need.”

“Actually, I was being sarcastic.”

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Angelique had used the time she spent waiting for Napoleon and his ridiculous partner showering, changing into fresh clothing and reapplying her makeup.  _I still can’t believe those men brought all of my things!  That certainly went my way, didn’t it?  I hope Napoleon agrees to my plan; it will make things a lot easier._

The ringing of the phone broke her train of thought.  It was the Front Desk advising her that a Mr. Stewart and a Mr. Case wished to see her.  “Yes, thank you.  Send them up.”  She checked her reflection in the full length mirror.  _Flawless._

She went to the door and opened it to stand in the door frame, assuming they would feel less threatened if they could see her immediately upon exiting the elevator.   The elevator doors slid open and the men stepped into the hallway, but stopped at the sight of her.  “Angelique,” Napoleon said as his eyes moved around assessing possible dangers. 

She held her arms out, first at the side and then directly in front of her so that Napoleon and Illya could see that the fingernails that had immobilized the UNCLE agent were now cut and filed down even with her fingertips.  “I declawed myself to show you I mean you no harm,” she announced, “Come in and let’s take care of our business so we can all move on with our lives.”  She turned on her heel and strode into the penthouse.

Illya, who had been watching and listening silently, moved seamlessly in front of his CEA and placed his hand on his gun nestled in his shoulder holster.  He drew it when he caught sight of Mrs. Sukharov’s body, neck obviously broken, still upright in the easy chair.  “ _Oobiystvyenniye sooka! Ti oobil nyevinnikh Poʐilaya ʐyenshtina?_ (You murderous _bitch!_ You killed as innocent old woman?)”

“Of course not, you idiot!  Honestly, Napoleon; how can you stand him?”

“Nevermind, but you _do_ have a lot of ‘splainin’ to do, Lucy, so I suggest you get to it before both of us lose patience.  If you didn’t kill her, who did?”

“It was Dragi Kosovo; _her_ body is on the floor on the other side of that couch.”  She backed away so that the men could see.  Napoleon moved closer and noted five long scratches on her left arm.  The expression on the dead woman’s face was one of shock.  "Yes, Napoleon; one nail paralyzes temporarily, five nails' worth of the toxin causes everything in the body to stop."

“You killed the Chairwoman of the Central Committee?  Angelique, what the hell is going on?”

They listened raptly as the THRUSH femme fatale recounted her tale from the moment she met Dragi through her refusal to follow a direct order to how she came to be in the Mandarin Oriental penthouse with two dead bodies.  “I am a lot of things, gentlemen, but I do not kill helpless old women.”

“So, Miss DeChien,” Illya asked, “does this mean you will be ascending to the Chairwoman’s seat?”

“It does not.  I have no desire to have to look over my shoulder more than I do now.  The members of the Central Committee can fight amongst themselves for that ‘honor’ to their hearts’ content.  I have made other plans.”

Napoleon’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity.  “May I ask what those plans are?”  He didn’t really expect an answer, but to his surprise, she nodded her head.

“I will tell you some of them.  First of all, I’m giving you two credit for killing Dragi.  That will enhance your reputations while letting me avoid being drawn into the Central Committee.  One thing I didn’t tell you is that I injected Dragi with my truth serum.  She was kind enough after that to tell me where her considerable fortune is hidden along with all the account numbers and aliases she used to create them.  So, it would appear that unlike most THRUSH, I have an actual pension thanks to her.”

“If you live long enough to enjoy it.”

Angelique sighed, “Leave it to the little man to throw cold water at me.  Yes, Illya, if I live long enough.  I’ve been thinking for a while that I might like to get out of The Game; now my… _windfall_ makes it possible for me to implement my plans to disappear.  So, Napoleon, I have a proposal for you.”

Illya’s eyes widened.  “Do not tell us you wish to _defect?_ ”

The blonde laughed, “Of course not!  Defections are what _started_ this whole mess.  I wish to be left alone!  I want to walk out that door and out of the espionage business.  I have had enough of THRUSH; Dragi trying to kill me was the last straw.”  The entire time they had been in the penthouse, Angelique had barely looked at the Russian, but now she focused all her attention on him.  “Were your scientists able to isolate the truth serum I used on Napoleon?  I know they must have taken a sample of his blood to try to do so.”

Illya considered lying, but was curious as to where this conversation was heading.  “No, they have been unable to differentiate which ingredients belonged to the paralyzing agent and which to the truth serum.”

“That is because some ingredients are present in both compounds.  They are both my inventions; a little something I held back from THRUSH for my own reasons.  In exchange for UNCLE cleaning up _this_ mess,” she indicated the two bodies, “I will hand over my truth serum formula _and_ the formula for the antidote.  My paralysis toxin formula I’ll keep to myself.  A girl’s got to protect herself.  And before you think you can extrapolate _that_ formula from Napoleon’s blood once I give you the serum formula, the active ingredient for the toxin disappears from the system.  That is how the paralysis works itself out of the body.”

Napoleon considered Angelique’s proposal.  “So, UNCLE takes credit for the Chairwoman’s death, our cleanup crew takes care of the penthouse and we take possession of your truth serum and antidote formulas.” 

“Yes.”  Her eyes flicked toward the body of Mrs. Sukharov.  “I couldn’t care less what becomes of Dragi’s remains, but the old woman…She will have a proper burial, yes?”

Napoleon nodded.  “We’ll see to it.  There is one thing that hasn’t been discussed yet.”

Angelique flipped her hair back behind her shoulders.  “I was wondering if you would be gauche enough to bring up the two UNCLE agents I wounded when I killed Valerie O’Shea.  I won’t apologize for completing my mission any more than I would expect an apology from you for completing yours against THRUSH.  I will say this: If I had wanted those agents dead, they would be dead.”  She checked the time.  “I don’t wish to rush you, Darling, but Dragi said she would call the chauffeur when she was ready to leave.  She was returning to South Africa tonight so if she’s not heard from soon someone is sure to come here to check on her.  Do we have a deal?”

Napoleon glanced at his partner as he reached his decision.  “Go.  Goodbye and good luck.”  As Angelique gathered her things to leave he added, “If I discover that you have returned to THRUSH or that you’ve given us fake formulas, I promise you I will find and kill you.”

Angelique affected her Australian accent as she replied, “That’s fair dinkum, Mate!”  She reached into her purse and pulled out a hypodermic needle and handed it to Illya.  “That is the truth serum and _this,”_ she said as she reached in again and handed him a vial, “is the antidote.  There are three doses worth of serum in the needle.  Napoleon can tell you how effective it is.  Napoleon, could you walk me to the door, please?”

When they reached the door, she turned to him and said softly, “I know the answer, but I’ll ask anyway: Would you like to join me in early retirement?  Thanks to Dragi, I have more than enough money for both of us, enough to last several lifetimes.  We could have fun, Napoleon.”

Feeling disapproval roiling off his partner, Napoleon leaned in to hug and kiss his sometime bed partner anyway.  “Thank you for thinking of me, but no, I won’t be leaving with you.”  He kissed her one more time.  “Goodbye, Angelique DeChien.”

 


	9. Epilogue

Illya and Napoleon were sitting in their usual seats at the conference table in Mr. Waverly’s office.  They had just been debriefed about their time in Raymond and Boston.  The Old Man was holding his unlit pipe between his teeth as he processed what he had been told.  It had been ten hours since the two agents had left the Mandarin.  They had stayed long enough to receive the Cleanup Crew and give them instructions.

The intercom buzzed and Mr. Waverly spoke to Miss Rogers briefly and then pressed a button on his phone to take a call.  After a few moments, he hung up and turned back to his agents.  “Gentlemen, Miss Rogers has informed me that Communications is picking up THRUSH chatter indicating there is a power struggle currently underway in the Central Committee due to the assassination of Chairwoman Kosovo by the team of Solo and Kuryakin.  There are also rumors afloat that Agent Angelique DeChien is presumed dead because during her last transmission informing the Committee that Kosovo had been killed, she suddenly said you two had found her and gunfire was heard before the connection was severed.”

“Also, that was the lab on the line.  They have been able to replicate Miss DeChien’s formulas and initial tests show both formulas seem to work.”

Napoleon smiled.  “So, it would appear that she kept her end of the bargain.  Sir, the Cleanup Crew transported Mrs. Sukharov’s body here.  It’s in our morgue along with Valerie O’Shea’s.  Might I suggest that we bury them alongside Mikhail Sukharov?”

“I see no reason why not.  I’ll have Miss Rogers see to the arrangements.”  He looked at his Russian agent.  “Thank you, Mr. Kuryakin.  I need to speak privately with Mr. Solo.  You may go.”

Illya stood up immediately.  “Thank you, Sir.”  With a quick glance at his partner, he walked to the pneumatic door and stepped through as it slid open.

 _Oh, boy.  Here it comes,_ Napoleon thought.  “Yes, Mr. Waverly?”

“It would appear, Mr. Solo, that your so – called luck has struck again.  I had intended to chastise you about your association with Angelique DeChien.  If you had disclosed sensitive information to her when she had you under the influence of her drug, I would have stripped you of your CEA title.”  He watched his agent’s face blanch.  “Not because you broke, but because you should have never allowed yourself to be in that situation in the first place.  You are extremely fortunate that she felt some type of loyalty to you.”

“I know I am, Sir.”

The Old Man struck a match and began to puff on his pipe.  “Are there any _other_ dangerous liaisons I need to be aware of?”

“No, Sir.  Angel…Miss DeChien was the only one.”

“Good.  Make sure she remains so.  Do you honestly believe she has…retired?”

“I believe she meant it when she said it.  However, I wouldn’t be surprised if she resurfaced in The Game as a freelancer.”

“If she ever does, and you lead with your libido again, the consequences for you will be most dire. You are dismissed, Mr. Solo.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Napoleon said as he stood and left.  He moved through the hallways and the elevator until he reached his office.  He went in and sat shakily at his desk.  “Angelique backing away from THRUSH and going off on her own saved me from getting ripped a new one by Waverly.  I dodged a bullet, Partner Mine.”

Illya looked up from the mission report he was writing.  Pulling his glasses down his nose so he could see Napoleon clearly he replied, “I hope for your sake that she is gone for good.  If she were to ever come back, it could very well be the death of one of you.”

“You’re right.  The only reason I’m still CEA is because she only wanted to know where to find O’Shea.  That was _way_ too close a call.”  He scrubbed his hand across his face.  “I hope to never see her again.”

Illya nodded and went back to his report.  _Moy droog, I will see her dead before I let her jeopardize you or your standing in UNCLE._ “Good.”    


End file.
